Japan Earthquake Charity Literature Kazushige Abe RIDE ON TIME Translated by Michael Emmerich WasedaBungaku 2011 RIDE ON TIME Another day of uninspiring waves. Nothing bracing about the wind, either – it just feels chilly. Occasionally a perfunctory gust springs up, as if it’s suddenly realized it should have been blowing all along, flapping the banners outside the seafood shops and the curtains hanging in the storefronts before head- ing elsewhere. In its wake, the salty pungency of the rocks and an image on the retina of billowing sand. The waves are always the same. It was like this yesterday, and doubtless it’ll be this way tomorrow, too. Bland, ordinary swells, unremarkable, average. Still, we know they’re not as bad as we say they are. Truth is, we’ve gotten used to them. Inured to their excite- ments. Having spent so many years on this coast, paddling out past the breakers day in and day out, all year long, we’ve become so familiar with the particular qualities of the wind and waves here that there are no surprises anymore, unless something well out of the ordinary comes along. Lucky enough to be served gourmet meals on a daily basis, we grumble about the cooks above the clouds. This isn’t good enough, do better! Blaming the weather bureau has gotten so old that we no longer even bother. We’re as passive as chicks in a nest, straining upward, opening our mouths, cheeping 2 RIDE ON TIME shrilly ever so often as we wait for our food. We’ve long since become bored with the whole situation, but that doesn’t keep us from staying on. Because we have a reason to be here. Because we can’t abandon our hope that someday that same wave will come crashing toward this shore again. Some of us, more than just a few, still can’t believe it was real. A grand swell of unprecedented size that appeared a decade ago, the likes of which has never been seen here again. That’s what we’ve been yearning for all this time, that’s the wave we’ve been picturing in our minds’ eyes – a sea dragon flapping its wings, so huge it blots out the sky. Some among us are veterans aching for a second try, others are rookies who only half accept that such a wave could really exist, or get as large as people say. Still, every one of us shares the same desire to come face to face with a legend. That’s who we are. The surfers who’ve made this northern coast our home, choosing of our own volition to pass our days in unrelieved monotony. We’ve forgotten who we were, but sometimes, rarely, we see what we’ve become. Of course, just because a place is beautiful, you don’t neces- 3 RIDE ON TIME sarily want to stay forever. It’s not easy to keep from getting worn down or falling prey to routine when you remain in one place too long. Matted hair, grainy with salt; faded raglan tee shirts; white jeans dyed in earthy tones; high-performance sunglasses with polarized, mirrored lenses – that was the look we favored. It didn’t matter how old a surfer was, even if some of us pre- ferred prescription sunglasses. We weren’t an especially attrac- tive group of people, overall, but it’s not like any of us were old or decrepit. Now, having waited so long, we look like skeletons. Even the youngest have skin so dry it’s sandpapery, almost keratin- ized, and they pop as many vitamins as the rest of us. Years of surfing have made us prone to complain that none of the waves are any good, but that doesn’t mean we’ve lost our enthusiasm for catching them. Just the opposite, in fact. We may complain, but we can’t forswear the joy of romping through variations on a theme we’ve long since mastered. If anything, without noticing that it was happening, we’ve become comfortable with the predict- ability of our situation. By now we like to think we’ve grasped the patterns of the waves on the ocean’s surface, even though in reality the same 4 RIDE ON TIME movements are never repeated twice. Of course we know it’s an illusion, but we’re not about to change our attitude now. And so we go on proclaiming cock- ily that things will be the same tomorrow, and the next day. Our goal is still the same: to be here when the groundswell comes. But if we were honest with ourselves, we’d have to admit we’ve been so coddled by the smooth, easy waves on this beach that none of us is really ready to take on such a monster. • And now here we were, headed for a Friday unlike any other. Someone had posted a tweet. At last, it said, this is the one you’ve been waiting for. It was almost positive. The wave would hit the north coast on Friday. This time, the information could be trusted. Now that this legendary wave was approaching, for the first time in ten years, the best surfers were already preparing. So they said. The new faces and the younger surfers, unable to believe this was actually happening, were probably busy try- ing to gather any information they could. Those who’d gone 5 RIDE ON TIME down the last time and were preparing for a second try were fiercely waxing their boards, hardly noticing the numbness in their hands. And yet faced with a wave like the one we were expecting, there were no veteran surfers, no rookies. There was no know- ing whether anything you’d read in a manual, any technique you’d acquired, would be of any use. Forecasters said it was almost 100% certain the wave would come on Friday. The date got a double circle on smartphone surfing apps, and knowledgeable figures in the Fishing Coop agreed that Friday was the day. An old surfing judge who was better than anyone at predicting waves and more rigorous in his appraisal of their scale, said he had no doubt the leviathan was coming back. Everyone was psyched over this once-in-a-decade event. Last time, every single surfer had been thrown. I myself hadn’t had a chance of catching the wave at its peak. In fact, I hadn’t even been able to get up on my board properly before I was swept into the massive wall. Not one of us had been able to conquer that wave, and make the super long ride in. This time, though, there might be a breakthrough. There 6 RIDE ON TIME were signs. Whenever new surfers arrived, the locals told them right off about some of the people who had died trying to ride that monster in the past. Each time the dragon wakes, always in early spring, it de- vours a few of us, then vanishes again for years at a time. The same awful scene has played out again and again. And each time, the locals tell the newcomers all they’ve witnessed, as clearly as possible, and make them listen. The sharper the accounts, the more each listener retains. The more each listener retains, the less meaningless the old deaths are. Because when those memories are carried on, they point the way toward new methods of attacking the wave, and make it less likely that so many will go down the next time. A decade ago, we were all thrown from our boards, it’s true, but everyone made it back to shore. Because we had learned what we could from the past. Slowly but surely, in other words, the old surfers’ experi- ences, handed down from one generation to the next, were leading us closer to matching the force of that huge wave. There was no knowing whether our manuals and techniques would help, but history had given us wisdom, and history was 7 RIDE ON TIME gradually pushing us toward a way out. And so we had to try again. Try, once again, to win. A decade of calm waters had turned us into tough-talking wimps, but even people like us could be useful, lending our strength to try and force the exit open. Either way, the wave was coming. It would hit the north coast on Friday. On Friday, we would put on our drysuits just like always, head for the shore at the same hour we did every day. The only difference would be the class of the wave, and our determination. But the wave we would be going to meet was a mega grand swell some fifty meters tall, and we’d know that the worst might happen. So I guess the truth was that everything would be differ- ent. We needed to be in our best form, to be ready for a Friday unlike any other. Who knew, if we were physically in peak condition, and if we could keep calm, maybe we could turn a Friday unlike any other into a Friday just like every other. 8 RIDE ON TIME • Three hundred people, including surfers and spectators, stand on this northern beach. We’re all staring out at a legend that has become real. We had known more or less what to expect, but the awe-in- spiring force of this ten-year wave leaves us stunned: surfers, forecasters, and the surfing judge, all gaping.